


IMMORTAL

by poesword



Series: original poetry [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Academia, F/F, LGBTQ Themes, Magical Realism, Mythology - Freeform, Poetry, Prose Poem, in a female's POV, just an idea i'm having, sort of sinister and vague but like that the point, tw: blood gore and injuries, tw: surrealism / unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poesword/pseuds/poesword
Summary: there's just something about her





	1. i would follow her to my death

**Author's Note:**

> someone said "dark academia but its all queer women" and here i am

The girl was seated in the centre of the library. Light spilled in through the stain-glass windows behind her; the gushing warmth of a marigold and burning crimson blanketed over her delicate, plump figure. Books laid open on her lap, with worn spines and yellowing pages held gingerly in her hands. Her chestnut hair was swept over her shoulder by the breeze that swirled in from the library's entrance. At the sound of my arrival, she glanced up, a faraway look in her deep brown eyes, like she was still lost in the words, her body here, but her soul frolicking elsewhere.

 

My breath caught when her eyes met mine. I could get lost in them. Dark like melting chocolate; daring like a doe in the forest, head tilted as if she was waiting for me to follow.

 

And I knew, in that instant that corners of her blood-red lips upturned, that I would follow her anywhere. Even my own death.


	2. sorry for what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder of crows were circling overhead, swooping downwards then shooting back up like something was repelling them from the area, yet still luring them back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for  
> blood,  
> gore,  
> and injuries.

 

Consciousness came back to me like floodgates: overwhelming, rushing, a sensation of drowning in something thick and viscous, metallic and tangy.

Breathing was a sharp burst of pain at first, slowly faltering into dullness in my lungs. My teeth were painfully dry, grit caking the crevices, and my tongue was parched and heavy. I clawed at the ground, distantly expecting the soft texture of my bed covers, but instead met dirt and rocks, burying into my nails and caking my fingertips with clots of mud.

My head pounded. My limbs ached. To move my index finger was to shoot pain through my veins. For a sickening moment, I could feel the blood swim inside my arms, then bullet towards my legs and my _chest_ , oh god my chest. I looked down as best as I could without straining my eyes, and all I saw was red. Browning crimson that soaked my shirt and clung to my skin. A scream crawled into my throat and stuck inside, only a strangled, horrified cry escaping.

Suddenly, she was at my side. Her smooth, even skin was sunken and anemic. Streams of tears marred her cheeks, and her eyes were haunted. They were timid and bloodshot; cautious and pained. The flecks of gold in them that had once made her youthful and full of joy now looked older than time itself.

I lifted a shaky hand to hold her cheek and she grasped it before it could fall. She kissed my fingers gently, tears welling up and falling down the dried tracks. Her tears stung, hot and steaming on my ashen skin.

 _I’m so sorry_ , she said. Her voice was muffled, her sweet tone digging away at the last of my senses. Sound returned to me in a crescendo of ringing, painful enough to tear my eyes away from her face and squeeze themselves shut while the ringing quieted.

 _S-sorry...for...what?_ I croaked, wiping her tears with my thumb as they fell faster. A smudge of dirt trailed my thumb.

She didn’t answer my question.

 _I’m so sorry_ , she repeated. Over and over. I tried to remember what had happened; how I had ended up on the floor the woods, with a wound that, somehow, didn’t seem to hurt as much as it probably should’ve.

I blinked at the view above me. The trees around the clearing were bare, blackened, and ash seemed to loosen from wood in the breeze. Why were there no leaves? It was springtime.

Wasn’t it?

A sharp cry stole my attention. A murder of crows were circling overhead, swooping downwards then shooting back up like something was repelling them from the area, yet still luring them back down. I realized they were confused. About _what_ was just another question among a million more.


End file.
